Run, Rabbit, Run
by LunaStellaCat
Summary: A wizard juggles life as London gets bombed in broad daylight. Written for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenges and Assignments. Assignment 6: Autumn: Write about a wizard who is extremely busy. Any reviews or comments would make my day.


15 September 1940

London lived while cloaked under darkness. John Moody pulled the curtains closed and fumbled with the pipe in his trouser pocket. He read about the Blitz in the Muggle newspapers. London got attacked every night, sometimes during the day, which John considered a bold move, and he'd actually congratulate the Germans if they'd stop bombing his damn city; he wished they would get the hell out. Unbeknownst to the Muggles, they lived among witches and wizards, and the magical community had problems of its own with Grindelwald terrifying them. London lived by a strictly enforced curfew, and out of respect for the Muggles, some wizards followed these standards.

Crochet needles knitted a blanket in midair. Diana sat nearby in a rocking chair and read through reports by firelight. John had heard of electricity, though he didn't quite understand it, and a lot of people lived like them. There was no sunlight. A woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, Diana was the only female Auror amongst the menfolk. Senior officers wanted to edge her out with this baby, but she refused to go down without a fight.

"Everything will be all right." John lit his pipe with a match.

Diana sniffed, saying nothing, and went about gathering her things. She never believed him. Neither of them were ready for this child, and it was fast approaching. He was not one to show public affection. He stayed within the lines just like his father, and he went to work and came home. A clothes horse wrung out Diana's traveling cloak. The ground shook like an earthquake, and John went to go steady Diana as she doubled over.

"The boy." Diana shoved John away and pointed at the window. John, curious, followed her finger. A curly haired paper boy riding a bicycle crashed nearby. John helped Diana over to her spot. Impatient, she snapped at him. "John, I am perfectly fine! Forget about me and fetch the boy."

John, fixing his robes, which were on back to front, muttered about being late for an assignment. Diana's pains started late last night, yet it was clear the baby would take its time. Babies weren't birthed in the hospital. Even though they were not part of this war, they felt its subtle effects. The Ministry of Magic, those who cared for the Muggles, argued for rationing if London starved herself.

John led a group of top Aurors trying to track down the whereabouts of Grindelwald. He wasn't in charge of capturing the slippery devil, but he proved rather adept at guessing the man's next moves. He regretted bringing a child into the world like this. Not one to shy from any obstacle, John got lost in his work and got handpicked to guard the Prime Minister. Diana stepped back a little at work, yet she juggled responsibilities still.

John went outside. The boy saw things. He walked tall for seven and enjoyed his hard work. Benjy Fenwick, nephew to Charles Fenwick who graced the _Times_ , bounced with enthusiasm and stories. A kid with endless energy, Benjy made an attractive poster boy with a good voice, blonde curls, and blue eyes.

"What news, Mr. Fenwick?" John paid the boy with butterscotch sweets and pocket money he'd earned while working for Muggles on the side. With a baby on the way, even with the caseload, they needed the money. John offered him leaflets from a rations book. "Want to go fetch my wife some eggs?"

Benjy pointed at his bicycle.

"I've got this, son, you get that." John shooed him away. When the boy got busy with his task, John performed some quick wandwork. He mended the tire, the basket, and the chain with a simple non-verbal spell, and Benjy returned, amazed, with two cartons and some milk. "Good as new."

"How did you do that?" Benjy, walking his bike, chased after John and bounded upstairs to their flat. The flat opposite had been taken out by the bombings, and yet their property, protected by spells and enchantments, remained untouched. Benjy handed over papers, two of them, and pounded on the door. "Has Miss Diana had the baby yet?"

"Is that why you deliver our papers to the door?" John ruffled his hair and took off the Ivy cap. "I like you, kid. Anything interesting from your uncle?"

"He says 'shit' in the paper. On a Sunday, too, paragraph four." Benjy, grinning toothily, hugged Diana when she answered the door. Benjy came from a Catholic family and had six elder sisters; the Fenwick family owned a sweetshop and popped out kid after kid, so Diana's matronly appearance came as no surprise to Benjy. She looked from her husband, to Benjy, and back again. "And Uncle Charlie says it's better than calling the paper shit …"

"Benjamin." Diana placed a hand on Benjy's shoulder and steered him inside. She raised her eyebrows at John and lowered her voice. Words were words to John. He stopped, pulling a straight face, and scolded Benjy with a mischievous grin.

"What's that?" Benjy pointed out both the levitating blanket and the wardrobe as it closed itself. The traveling cloak floated by and hung itself by the Mackintosh.

"Not nothing. Nothing, come on, boy." John took the papers and tossed them on the coffee table with the boy's cap. An edition of the _Prophet_ flashed Grindelwald's face with the usual headlines posing the same old questions: Where is Grindelwald? Is nowhere safe?

"That's you, Mr. Moody!" Benjy snatched the copy of the _Daily_ _Prophet_ and waved it in the air. He'd learned to read at a young age, thanks to his renowned uncle, no doubt. He read, holding the paper out of John's reach. "'…. teams working tirelessly with the Minister for Magic and Mr. Churchill …' You know Churchill?"

"Yeah. You're six. How do you know Churchill?" Realizing this clever boy stayed with the times, John rolled up the paper and smacked him with it playfully. Benjy went to duck behind Diana in the kitchen. Diana sprinkled tea leaves into her biscuit dough and rolled it by hand. John worked as security detail for Minister Spencer-Moon and the Prime Minister.

"I'm seven," said Benjy.

"Your uncle ought to remember you're a boy," said Diana, slicing the biscuits and casting a quick Chilling Charm on them when Benjy dashed off to the bathroom. Since the Ministry forced her on leave, Diana swept herself into a baking binge and refused to sit around like some housewife. She placed the biscuits on the rack and forgot to set a timer.

John wiped the smile off his face. "You shouldn't be on your feet."

"They let that boy run around. He's a boy, John!" Diana set her slicer in the basin and straightened up as John placed his hands on her shoulders. She laughed when John jokingly suggested they adopt the paper boy. "Mr. Fenwick ought to … they breed like rabbits."

*"'Run rabbit, run rabbit - Run! Run! Run!'" John got a song stuck in his head from the Prime Minister's wireless and jumped back to it at every open opportunity. Diana softened, placing her hand on top of his when John rested a hand on her belly.

"He likes you? Mr. Churchill?" Diana took the biscuits out of the range.

"Oh, I don't think Mr. Churchill likes anyone on Downing Street, Diana," said John, returning her smile. He liked it whenever John fetched him cigars or stayed late burning the midnight oil. John turned his head, listening to the song in the background play on the gramophone; he hummed the same lines as he danced with his wife. It wasn't a dance; Diana shuffled her swollen feet without managing to trip over them, really. Benjy must have turned on the music player. "Seeing as he helps himself to our food, our books, and our gramophone, Benjy might as well be ours. You want two sons? What say you?"

Diana patted his cheek. "He needs someone."

"Diana."

"I'm frightened."

"If you're not frightened you're not paying attention."

She did a double take, surprised to hear these words, a quote. "Where have I read that before? It's a good trick, John, you open your mouth and Charles's voice comes out."

John shrugged, taking no credit. She kissed him, softly at first, slowly more insistent. He changed from his robes to a casual suit with a simple spell.

"You think I care too much for the paper boy." Diana straightened his tie.

"No, I like Benjy. He has Charles. I've got to go." John brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. John couldn't remember when the Muggle world and the magical world were both caught in an international conflict. John helped himself to a biscuit. "He won't come around if you give birth to a girl."

"John!" Unable to tell whether he feigned disappointment or joy, Diana studied his face. She was an actor, too, yet John was the better one because he wore a mask. He concealed his emotions. When Benjy came back, John pretended to inspect the fireplace as Floo Powder slipped from his fingers. Diana gave a second warning, placing her hands on the boy's shoulders. "John."

"Thank you for the paper, although I don't need two." John shrugged when Benjy handed one to Diana. He followed John outside. John rolled his eyes, waited for the boy to go inside, and turned around to face him. He turned out his pockets. "I haven't any money."

"Uncle Charles slips rations in the papers," said Benjy quietly, stepping over the cracks in the sidewalk.

John spun around, completely taken off his guard. He received ration books because he posed as a Muggle in civil service; he held onto the belief that Winston Churchill, who was a Spencer himself, had no reason to believe John was nothing more than a slave to the government. Diana walked out of the flat, flashing pieces of paper.

Rations were as good as currency. Late, John marched back towards his wife and cleared his throat. "Oranges."

"Those are for pregnant women and children," said Benjy, shuffling his feet. He sounded like an older boy. He shrugged. "You saved Uncle Charles at King's Cross when his foot got caught. I guess he's paying you back?"

John handed papers back to Diana. "Oranges aren't in season."

"Doesn't matter, does it? He gets weird payment for the paper," said Benjy, smiling when Diana held up a finger, telling him to stay there. She returned with brandy, biscuits, butter, sugar, and cocoa powder, showing him each ingredient before she placed these in a basket. Benjy beamed. Sugar and cocoa made rare appearances in a pantry. "Thank you."

"No, thank you. You give this to your uncle. And don't read it." Diana stuffed a hastily written letter in Benjy's pocket. She started back up the stairs and came back down to kiss Benjy on the cheek.

John frowned at his wife. He'd never seen her shed a tear before, and Diana had witnessed truly disturbing things. "Are you crying?"

"No. Who asked you?" Diana, returning to her brisk manner, helped Benjy pull on a knit jumper. "I made this for your birthday."

"Your birthday's on September first, paper boy, we know." John smirked, taking the words out of Benjy's mouth before he had a chance to say them. John waved goodbye to Diana, helped Benjy on the bike, and hummed the same song in his head.

"Rabbit's not rationed," said Benjy.

"Benjy, you don't like your sisters." John stated this as a fact, an observation. John watched people. He rubbed people the wrong way, he knew, but he learned about them and often used this to his advantage. He took out his pipe and lit it with a match. He'd burned his fingers playing with these things, but he was getting the hang of it. "Ask me anything."

"You're not normal." Benjy stopped at the end of the next street.

"That's not a question." John immediately regretted not laying down rules for this game. He held up three fingers. His father, Andrew, a retired Auror, played a game called Three. In truth, this was a drinking game for wizards at the pub; if a drinking buddy couldn't find the truth in three questions, whether they were open-ended or not, the person drank; Andrew drank people under the table. "Three."

"Three guesses? Okay. You're a sergeant." Benjy sped up, grasping the game without the rules. John shook his head, racing along beside him. "I would say RAF, but you're not … that's not a guess!"

"All right." John held up his hands in mock surrender.

"But you work with people," said Benjy, talking himself through this.

"Some of them very bad people," conceded John, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He stopped. He shouldn't have said this, but what was the boy going to do with it? John smiled, thinking of something Mr. Churchill's secretary asked him. "I am not in the Secret Intelligence Service."

"Really?" Benjy snapped his fingers, his face falling in disappointment. He chewed on this, not wanting to waste his last shot. John showed him the one finger. He'd given him an answer, so technically, he still had two. "You speak Gaelic."

John demonstrated the Scottish tongue, yet this meant nothing.

"You're a spy!" Benjy slapped his handlebars. He stopped by the flower shop and sold two papers to old ladies.

"Your uncle knows how to play the system," said John. He went back to Benjy's question. They stopped outside the Chocolate Shoppe, too, and Benjy came back with two sampler boxes. His family struggled in the sweets business; this didn't mean the boy ate to his heart's content. John opened the lid, offering him one. "What're these for?"

"For Miss Diana … and the baby. I dunno." Helping himself to a sweet, jerked his head towards his overweight mother, and John raised his hand in thanks. Benjy left the bicycle and swung the basket over his arm. "You didn't answer."

"Yes and no." John answered carefully.

"I'm close. I mean, you wouldn't be guarding Mr. Churchill if you were the milkman or an architect. Oh, come on!" Benjy rolled his eyes when John, actually enjoying himself, laughed. "Where are you headed?"

"Downing Street. I'm designing some structure. An architect!" John lived for half truths. Charles lived nearby. John slowed, for something did not feel quite right. Next moment, hearing raspy breathing, he placed a hand on Benjy's chest, making him stop, and drew his wand.

"What's that?" Scared, Benjy kept his eyes on the wand. John fell into a stance and he fired off spells and curses, never uttering a word. John deflected a curse from a wizard dressed in shabby robes. With everything else on his plate, this was the last thing he needed. "What's - what's that thing? John!"

"Benjy, you stay where you are. Do not move!"

John disarmed the weak homeless man and caught his wand. Benjy, white as a sheet, nearly wet himself in the lamplight. The wizard, a starved man, shrank back into the darkness. Next moment, he aimed for Benjy, but an illuminated spell caught him in the chest. The creature, John suspected a werewolf, illuminated red, and slammed onto the pavement. John raised his hands, completely confused, and backed off.

The woman stepped into the light. John chuckled, thinking he shouldn't be surprised Diana followed him on foot. John dropped the wand by the lifeless body. Diana took Benjy's Ivy cap out of her handbag and placed it over his curls. She spotted Charles in the upstairs window, picked a stone off the ground, tested its weight in her hand, and tossed it at her target.

She scared the living daylights out of Charles Fenwick. Satisfied, Diana fixed the boy's jumper and gestured at Benjy to head upstairs.

"Wait." John fingered his wand, readying himself to Oblivate the boy.

"I don't wanna forget." Benjy threw out a wild guess. He offered her the chocolates as a trade, John smiled, thinking using cuteness ought to be considered illegal. "You're not normal."

"Neither are you," said Diana. Kneeling, meeting his eyes, she paid for the second paper with Muggle money and pressed her lips to the lonely boy's head. "You're not cut from a biscuit cutter like your sisters, Benjamin, and there is nothing wrong with that. I love you. Charles loves you."

"Were you missing something, Mr. Fenwick?" John pointed at Benjy when Charles, puffing on his pipe, stuck his head out the window and stopped hitting keys on his Muggle contraption. Benjy, waving his Ivy cap in the air, headed upstairs.

Charles asked if two were three yet. Diana said no, not yet.

John gathered spilled oranges under the lamplight and placed a hand on the small of Diana's back. They said good night before they left, and John, feeling sympathy for the werewolf, left him to fend for himself. Diana kissed him as they walked along the street of abandoned homes. He pulled back an orange peel and offered her two quarters.

"You completely forgot about Downing Street."

"I did." John shared a laugh with her and offered the leftover orange slices to a stranger. "Why did you follow me?"

"We don't leave each other behind." She looped her arm through his and stroked his face. "No matter how lost we get during the day, we stay with each other because …?"

Completely lost, John threw out one of his sayings. "Constant vigilance?"

"John, you can't honestly think anyone buys such shit." Diana took his face in her hand.

"This hurts, Diana. Speaking of shit …" Trying to ignore the fact his wife held his face at an awkward angle, John took this as a segue.

"You want to eat in bed and read through Charles's article." Diana's face lit up when he nodded. She didn't even bother to make her correction, but she did release him. They slipped into bed with dinner and did the crossword as John cleared his throat and started reading.

*"Run, Rabbit, Run" by Flanagan & Allen (1939)


End file.
